


Catch Me Later

by snailmeamail



Category: Half Life
Genre: ADD Gordon Freeman, ASL, Cheesy, City 17 (Half-Life), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mute Gordon Freeman, One Shot, Reunions, Selectively Mute Gordon Freeman, nova prospekt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailmeamail/pseuds/snailmeamail
Summary: “Now,” the soldier says, unmasked and without his filter. Gordon’s stomach drops, and it’s not because he’s going to die; it’s because those are tired green eyes that stare at him with a crease as the soldier smiles. It’s because of that hair, dark and messy, spiky all over the place but lined with more grey than he remembers. “about that beer I owed ya!”--A test one-shot for Half Life, because I love Barney Calhoun so dang much. Gordon is selectively mute. Because I like to project, he also has ADD.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 39
Kudos: 276





	Catch Me Later

When Gordon is taken down a hall by one of those masked soldiers, it adds another dash of confusion onto his already full plate. First, he was put onto a train heading into a city he had never been in-- _City 17_ , as the white-haired man on the giant screens plastered all over the station kept saying. He couldn’t help but find that man’s face familiar. At least he knows _where_ he is, going off of the Russian script on the dilapidated signs everywhere.

Second, his clothes; a scratchy, blue jumpsuit that matches everyone else, when he could’ve sworn he had been wearing the HEV suit sometime ago, as his “employer” had let him keep it. Though, Gordon doesn’t really know what would’ve happened if he had walked in fully suited up; going by the heavy shotguns the soldiers hold, it probably wouldn’t have been good.

The station’s passengers, coming to and from City 17, have an air of hopelessness and dread about them. Their shoulders slump with the weight of their oppressive, tyrannical police. Gordon hasn’t been in the station for more than five minutes, and he can already tell just what’s happening here. He just isn’t sure why he’s here. 

He adjusts his glasses as he follows the soldier down a long, dim hall. They pass by locked, steel doors. The sudden banging of a table behind one of the doors makes him flinch.

“I’m innocent, I swear!” protests someone from the same room, followed by a garbled, robotic reply. “I don’t know anything about no _Resistance_ , I just got to City 17 an hour ago!”

Gordon gulps and keeps moving. He tugs at the collar of his jumpsuit--the texture is atrocious, more canvas than fabric. He doesn’t miss the glance the soldier throws his way.

_Barney would’ve loved this._

The thought hits him so hard from out of nowhere that he nearly stumbles. _Barney._ Where the hell is he? As if his anxiety isn’t bad enough already, he has to go and think about Barney N. Calhoun. The last time Gordon had seen him had been a rushed hello in the dormitories; he had been late to work that morning--the morning of the incident.

Barney had given Gordon his styrofoam cup of coffee, telling him to “Catch me later, and I’ll buy you a...” He hadn’t heard the rest of it, as he had already been out the door. 

He hasn’t seen Barney since. Did he even _survive_ the Resonance Cascade? The very thought makes his heart pang painfully. Barney _can’t_ have died, no, it’s just not conceivable. Barney Calhoun, who would’ve loved all of this mystery and tyranny and the Resistance because he used to spend hours telling Gordon about all these action movies he’d watched about this very subject, couldn’t have gone and _died._

Gordon won’t believe a word of it until proof is somehow presented to him. He’ll burn this damn city down if he never gets to hear one of Barney’s rants about so-and-so generic action movies again. He may not know a single thing about the genre, but Barney has a way of swaying people to his side. Plus, he still owes Gordon...well, something. He’ll have to ask when they meet again.

The soldier stops at the very end of the hallway and opens the door. It slides open, heavy on its hinges. “Get inside,” he says, gesturing with his baton. Gordon complies, albeit reluctantly. The sight before him is not a pretty one. 

What looks like a barber’s chair with red cushions sits in the middle of the room. There’s a console pushed up against the wall with three blue monitors. They display information in a language he can’t understand. The last, and certainly not the least in quantity, is the amounts of blood on the floor. Gordon wrinkles his nose and steps out of the way. It looks to be fresh; whoever had been in this room hadn’t come out the same way, or even not at all. 

Before he can make a break for it, the door shuts behind them, and the soldier goes to the console. He runs the math; the odds aren’t looking great. Even if he did slip out the door, he wouldn’t make it with all those guards around. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m gonna need me some privacy for this,” the guard chuckles to himself. The sound sends shivers down Gordon’s spine. That accent sounds atrocious through that filter. None of the other soldiers sound like that.

The red light on the camera in the right corner of the room shuts off. The soldier turns around and fiddles with the clasps of his mask.

 _I had a pretty good run,_ Gordon thinks, as he rubs the canvas of his sleeve between his fingertip. _caused a Resonance Cascade, fought through those aliens, made it to their homeworld, and then got rewarded by being transported to Russia...Yeah. It was alright._

"Now,” the soldier says, unmasked and without his filter. Gordon’s stomach drops, and it’s not because he’s going to die; it’s because those are tired green eyes that stare at him with a crease as the soldier smiles. It’s because of that hair, dark and messy, spiky all over the place but lined with more grey than he remembers. “about that beer I owed ya!”

 _Beer_. Of course.

Barney Calhoun owes him a beer.

He wastes no time throwing his arms around Barney’s neck and embracing him. The other man grunts as his backside hits the edge of the console. Neither pays mind to the beep of the buttons. He pats Gordon’s back, chuckling. “I missed you, too, doc,” he sighs into his shoulder, “I tried to look for you in Black Mesa, but...”

Gordon shakes his head. “You’re right, you’re right,” Barney concedes, “I’m just real glad you’re here, Gordon. Sorry for the scare. Had to put a show on for the cameras.”

He holds Barney tighter--he had never noticed how compact Barney is until now; he must have strong padding under that armor, or it could be that Barney’s actually been working out. They couldn’t even get him to do that in Black Mesa. He smells like dust and laundry soap. His hair is as soft as ever, Gordon notices, as he cards his hands through the strands on his nape. 

Reluctantly, he lets go. He holds one hand out with his fingers splayed, runs the opposite forefinger across them, then points forward with both forefingers. _What happened? After B-L-A-C-K M-E-S-A?_

“Wait, you don’t know? I thought...well, look, it’s a long story. I’ve been workin’ undercover with Civil Protection. We can’t take too long in here, or else they’ll get suspicious. I’m, uh, a bit behind on my beating quota.” At Gordon’s look of alarm, he grimaces. “You and me both, doc. Now, hold tight--gotta make a call.”

Barney presses a few buttons. The middle screen changes to a feed of a messy laboratory. Shelves with trinkets line the background. A seismograph ticks away. Something growls off-screen. A dog, maybe? The rest of the room is obscured by a man in a white coat, who turns around and jumps out of his skin in surprise.

“Barney? What is it? I’m in the middle of a critical test!” That thin voice belongs to Dr. Isaac Kleiner--another man Gordon had thought he’d never see again. He’s got far more wrinkles now, and in contrast, less hair. What little is left is stark white.

“Sorry, doc, but look at who I’ve got here!” Barney jabs a thumb in Gordon’s direction. He waves, not bothering to fight the grin on his face. Dr. Kleiner’s jaw drops, and he adjusts his glasses. 

“My God! Gordon Freeman! Why, I haven’t seen you since...well, since Black Mesa! It’s good to see that you’re still late to work, hmm?” Gordon snorts and shrugs. Can’t be helped. 

“Can you believe he was on his way to Nova Prospekt?” Barney says incredulously. Gordon taps his shoulder. He signs, What? “Trust me, Gord, you’re not gonna want to go to Nova Prospekt.”

“So...what do you intend to do, Barney?” Dr. Kleiner looks off to the side. “Lamarr! Don’t eat that, I need that for the--oh, dear.” He shakes his head. Gordon’s positive it’s a dog now.

“To be totally honest with you, doc, I didn’t really think I’d get this far. Hmm...As long as he doesn’t pass by any checkpoints, we should be alright. Alyx is around this area, isn’t she?” 

“I believe so.” 

“Alrighty, then. She can lead him there. Gotta go, doc--taking enough chances as it is. I’ll see ya when I see ya.” 

Dr. Kleiner sighs, then nods. “I’ll be seeing you, Barney,” he says, then turns to Gordon. “You, too, Gordon. Be safe, both of you. And great Scott, Barney, at least clean the room you use. Look at all that blood! Honestly...” The screen blinks and the feed is cut. 

Gordon frowns. He tugs on Barney’s sleeve. _You’re not coming with me?_ he signs.   
Barney hesitates, then rubs the back of his neck. “Heck, I’d love to, Gordon, but it’ll be suspicious if I go off-duty right after taking you outta the queue. Don’t you worry; I’ll be seeing you at Doc Kleiner’s.”

The doctor is indeed worrying. He has no idea where he’s going. He’s about to be separated from Barney for a second time. He hasn’t seen his best friend in an unfathomably long time; he doesn’t want to leave right this second. Of course, he has to go, lest he be taken to whatever “Nova Prospekt” is. Gordon’s stubbornness often outweighs his sense of reason, and Barney definitely knows that, because an exasperated smile grows on his face.

“Seriously, doc.” Barney leans against the side of the console, arms crossed. “Get to it.”

Gordon mirrors him and crosses his arms. He nods, but makes no move to go. He has to say goodbye, but he doesn’t want to just...say it. “C’mon, Gordon, really? This is just like that time you didn’t wanna go see the administrator because he called you in while we were watching this--I dunno, it was a frickin’ _lizard_ , I think--lizard devour a cockroach--”

The man grabs Barney by the front of his shirt and pushes him against the console for a kiss. Barney’s own hands drop in surprise, but quickly come to rest on Gordon’s waist, pulling him closer. Gordon’s hand goes to his cheek--there’s a new scar there. He traces it with his thumb, back and forth across the ragged line. Barney makes a soft, almost easy to miss noise, but when Gordon hears it every synapse in him fires up. His cheeks start to warm.

He’s never kissed Barney before. He had never gotten the chance to; he couldn’t work up the courage to cut through Barney’s rants and kiss him. He had always put it off, keeping it deep down, trying to keep that “best friends” thing afloat. Now, he’s not risking anything. It’s everything he’s imagined and wanted--the warmth, the touch, their soft breaths mingling--and more. 

He pulls away to breathe. Barney grins; he looks drunk as he raises his brows. “I’ve been waitin’ twenty years for that, darling. I, uh, always thought we might do it in the break room, back at the labs, or the dorms during movie night but...beggars can’t be choosers, doc, and Lord knows I’ve been begging for a good long while.”

Gordon covers his face with his palm, shaking his head and laughing. He does the sign for _Cliche_. “Doc, I can’t help it around ya! I really have been waiting for a while...One more kiss-a-roo wouldn’t hurt, would it?” Gordon grins, and leans in for another kiss. Slower, gentler; one of Barney’s gloved hands cards through his hair, the other remaining firmly on his waist. Gordon breathes a sigh. Barney’s stubble scratches against his chin.

“Hey...Didn’t you have longer hair before?” Barney whispers after a minute. Gordon reaches around to touch the back of his neck. Where his ponytail had been is now a uniform shave. It’s soft under his fingertips. He gapes. Barney chuckles at his expression. Their heads whip to the side as someone bangs the door.

Barney looks back at Gordon, with that cocky glint in his eyes, and cups his cheek. “You gotta get goin’, darling. I’ll catch ya later. I still owe you that beer.” The other man nods, savours Barney’s touch, and steps away. Barney unlocks the back door for him, and he steps aside, gesturing to it with one arm.

Gordon goes and stands in the doorway. He takes one last look at Barney. The man blows him a kiss, which he catches, and puts over his heart. He smiles and nods. This is goodbye for now. He steps out into the alley.

The door shuts behind him with a click.

Gordon Freeman has entered a strange new world, or more really, an alleyway of City 17. He watches large, round robots float carefree through the air. They pay no mind to him. He takes a deep breath, gathers his wits about him, and starts walking. If it really been has twenty years, they’re gonna have to do a lot to make up for lost time. 

Barney owes him more than just a _beer_ , and Gordon is gonna hold him to it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you open up my brain, you'll find a video of every "Catch me later, I'll buy ya a beer!" Barney says in Half Life playing on loop. Lemme know if you'd like to see more of them! I'd love to hear if I got their characterizations right ^_^
> 
> edit: come read the prequel here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667590


End file.
